


Winner's Wreath

by pikasafire



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winners get rewarded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winner's Wreath

It’s an arrangement of sorts; a game to make the distance between them a little more bearable - whoever wins the game, gets whatever they ask for.

It’s a close game this time, Pens winning in overtime in Pittsburgh and Max can’t really be that annoyed about it - he’s gotten his way the last few games. He tries not to smile too much in the locker-room, considering they _did_ just lose to their rivals, but he’s failing miserably by the way that Scotty’s rolling his eyes at him. Max can’t quite bring himself to care.

As usual, Marc’s waiting for him in the carpark, leaning up against his car in his suit, “If you’re trying to look cool, you’re failing.” Max says as a greeting, grinning.

Marc just punches him. “Shut the fuck up and get in the car, asshole.”

“Sweet talker.” And just like that, it’s like they haven’t just spent the last few months having to maintain this weird relationship of theirs via Skype and text and phone calls; It’s comfortable and Max isn’t quite sure how it got to this point - this casual _thing_ they have going on. Going from teammates who fuck to, well, rivals who fuck. It probably shouldn’t be as easy as it is.

“My turn to pay up.” Max says after a few minutes of driving in silence. Marc doesn’t answer but Max wasn’t really expecting him to, so he keeps talking. “Hope you’ve got something awesome planned. I could probably have gotten some more convenient subpar sex elsewhere.” Talking shit is practically part of the routine now. “So, I think you should suck my brain out through my dick.”

“I think I should probably gag you.” Marc says mildly, but he’s grinning, and Max is glad he’s not the only one who gets a little giddy. “It’s my turn, asshole. You just said so.”

“And you want to suck my dick, right?”

“I want you to shut the fuck up. And then _you_ can suck _mine_.”

“Alright.” Max agrees with a grin. “That’s what you want then?”

Talking to Max is a bit like talking to a Rubik’s cube. “Stop trying to make my decision for me, you fuck. I’ll tell you when I’ve decided.”

Max is mercifully silent the rest of the way and Marc pulls into his driveway, Max following close behind as he fumbles with his keys, letting them in. One day, they’ll make it past the entrance without Max immediately latching on, shoving him back against the door and kissing him hard. But, evidently today is not that day. Not that Marc’s complaining or anything.

It’s always urgent, that little bit desperate when it’s been a while and Marc tries not to get sappy, to think about how even though he _knows_ what Max tastes like, even though he knows the way it feels, it’s always that little bit overwhelming. They stay like that, shedding their jackets and shoes as they kiss, easing it into something slower, something less frenzied.

“What do you want?” Max murmurs, pressing his mouth to Marc’s throat, his fingers tugging at the buttons on his shirt until he can slide his hands over smooth skin.

Marc doesn’t say anything, tilting his head to give Max better access, a pleased little noise in the back of his throat.

“Pick,” Max says, “Pick now, or I’ll pick for you.”

“Give me a fucking moment.” Marc laughs, “Jesus, you’re impatient.”

“Yeah, well, some of us actually have places to be.”

“Liar.” But Marc’s smiling; affectionate and happy. He pulls Max closer, tugging lightly at hair that’s getting overly long, “You’re such a fucking drama queen.”

“You’re stalling,” Max says against his skin. “C’mon. Do I need to get the list? I think we’ve still got a few things left on it that we haven’t tried.”

“I can’t believe you actually made one.” He feels Max shrug.

“Alright. Are we going to stand in this hallway all night? Or are you going to let me suck your dick?”

“You saying you couldn’t do that right here?” It’s easy banter and Marc’s pretty sure that if they ever tried sex _without_ making fun of one another the entire time, it would be weird as fuck.

It prompts a laugh and Max moves from where he’s got his face buried in Marc’s neck. “Fine. Winners get rewarded.” Max says, annoying sing song voice as he slides down to his knees, fingers purposeful on Marc’s belt buckle.

Blowjob or not, Marc can’t keep his mouth shut, “Then why are _you_ being rewarded here?”

Max looks up, “I’m being rewarded by sucking you off?” It would be more effective if Marc didn’t already know how much Max likes it, so Max just grins up at him, “Consolation prize?” He offers instead.

And Marc has a witty response to that, he _does_ but it’s hard to think of with Max right there, yanking Marc’s trousers down without any finesse, zeroing in on his cock. “ _Fuck_ ” he says instead and lets his head fall back against the wall. It’s just that Max is really good at this. _Really_ good at this, and it’s not fucking fair because Marc has things to say, okay? Like telling Max that he’s the worst person ever.

“Eloquent,” Max says, taking his mouth off Marc’s dick long enough to mock him because he’s an asshole. The kind of stupid asshole who’ll stop sucking someone’s dick in order to _be_ an asshole.

“Oh my God, can you just, _fuck_ , not be a smart ass for, like, three fucking seconds, _Jesus_.” He grabs a handful of Max’s hair, tugging harder than he probably should and Max laughs a little, humming around Marc’s dick and sucking in earnest. It’s been a long time - Marc’s never asked whether Max sleeps around at home; it’s not really any of his business, they’ve never promised to be exclusive - but Marc doesn’t, and he hasn’t seen Max in almost two fucking months and if Max doesn’t stop, this is going to be over really, really soon. “Bed. Come on.” He pushes at Max’s head, tugging at his shirt, trying to get him up, move him _faster_ and Max just laughs, stands and presses him back against the wall, kissing him hard.

Marc kisses back, sloppy and a little desperate. “Bed,” he repeats, and Max nods, not moving.

“Take these off first.” He says, pulling at the buttons on Marc’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, tugging at his clothing until he’s naked and then Marc’s grabbing at Max’s hand, dragging him down the hallway to the bedroom.

Max isn’t very good at waiting or going slow and he shoves Marc down onto the bed, pushing at his hips until Marc’s far enough up the bed for Max’s liking, and for a moment, he takes his time, running his hands over the huge expense of naked skin in front of him. It’s strange being dressed in his suit when Marc’s completely naked, laid out in front of him, but he can’t quite make himself stop touching long enough to undress.

Marc’s whining a little, squirming impatiently under his hands, and Max presses his hips to the bed, kneeling over him and nuzzling at the crease of his thigh. “C’mon,” He whispers, breath hot against Marc’s skin, “Let me hear you.” and he bites down on soft skin

It’s little more than a high pitched moan, the arching of his back, the way his hips struggle to press forward as Max leaves a nice red mark before moving to swallow him down again, sucking him slowly, one hand keeping Marc’s hips pinned, the other jacking what Max can’t get his mouth on. Marc’s breaths coming faster, his stomach muscles trembling underneath Max’s hand and he waits until Marc’s close before pulling away.

“What do you want?” He murmurs, stretching up over Marc’s naked body, still dressed, enjoying the way Marc twitches, the little pleased noises at the sensation of Max’s clothes against his skin. “Tell me. C’mon.”

Max watches Marc’s throat work, swallowing, mouth open and wet as he searches for the words, an embarrassed flush reddening the skin on his throat and chest. “Hold me down,” Marc says, whisper hoarse, he bucks his hips, pressing himself full length against Max, “Then like this.”

The request goes straight to Max’s dick and he presses forward, letting his weight force Marc back against the mattress and kisses him hard. “Yeah,” he says roughly, “Fuck.” It’s a messy tangle of limbs, Max’s fingers curling around Marc’s wrists, forcing them above his head and he’s probably holding too tight, but Marc just arches against him, rubbing his oversensitive skin unashamedly against Max’s clothes.

They stay like that, kissing, rubbing against each other, clothes against naked skin and it probably shouldn’t be as hot as it is, Marc’s whining moans in Max’s ear, mouth hot against his own. They’re both too keyed up from long absences for this to last long, Marc practically writhing against him.

“I could probably keep you like this for awhile.” Max says, and it’s mostly bullshit because he’s so fucking turned on right now, his pants are painful and it’s pretty much the only thing stopping him from coming in three seconds flat.

“I swear to God. I will fucking end you.” Marc’s voice is raw and hoarse.

Max just laughs, presses him a little harder into the mattress. “Yeah? You promise?”

“Seriously,” Marc’s breath hitches a little, “C’mon.” he says, and Max can hear the strain in his voice, the way his muscles are bunching and tensing underneath him, “ _C’mon_.”

Of all the things Max has done and seen, he’s pretty sure watching Marc like this, desperate and wanting and almost begging, it’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen before in his life, and he can’t help squeezing Marc’s wrists a little tighter, grinding down against him, wet kisses and quick breaths. “Ask nicely.” He says, his voice shaky and breathless.

“ _Please_ ,” And listening to Marc beg will never, ever get old. Will never stop being ridiculously hot and Max _can’t_ say no to that, settles so he’s in just the right spot, Marc arching upwards, rubbing against him, grinding together, trembling, Marc’s shaky breaths in his ear until he stills against him, gasping quietly.

Max doesn’t even know what to _do_ he’s so fucking turned on and he reaches down, can feel Marc’s come on the fabric of his pants, almost popping the button in his rush to get them _off_ ; it’s only going to take a minute, he’s so keyed up and Marc fumbles, tries to help.

“C’mon. On me.”

Max can’t help the way his cock jumps at the suggestion, and it only takes a few strokes before he does exactly that, coming all over Marc’s stomach, shuddering and breathless and he lets himself fall forward, breathing hard, sweat sticking his shirt to his back.

They lay like that for a while, Max flopped half on top of Marc, and it takes about fifteen minutes before Marc has the energy to punch him in the shoulder. It’s a pretty pathetic punch, but Max whines anyway.

“Oww,” He complains, muffled by the pillow his face is buried in. He turns his face to the side enough to give Marc a baleful look. “What the fuck was that for?”

“Don’t even pretend, you fucking asshole.” Marc says, but there’s no venom in his voice and he’s smiling. “I’m going to get you back for that.” He shoves at Max weakly, “You’re heavy. Get off.”

Max just grins, buries his face back into the pillow with no intention of moving. “I count on it.” He says, laughing a little. “Next time, I’ll win.”

 

*

END  
  



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